


Legends

by GalacticDefender4679



Category: Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22547581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalacticDefender4679/pseuds/GalacticDefender4679
Summary: The Deep Magic calls out; the fate of the world rests on the edge of a blade, and only ancient legendary heroes from across the world can save it.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	1. Preface

No one really knows what happens when you die. But it’s not how you die that’s really remembered, it’s what you leave behind when you do. If you never really did anything of note in your life, then you’re little more than a ghost. But if you do something truly exemplary, something that ensures that your name will be remembered for centuries after you die… then, my friend, you are not just a man, you are a legend.

This world is full of legends, several more outlandish than the rest. But there’s always one universal truth about legends; no matter how ridiculous some of them may sound… there’s always have at least some truth to them.


	2. Once and Future King

Everyone knows the story of King Arthur Pendragon; high-king of old Britain. Raised by the great wizard Merlin Ambrosius to take the throne and armed with an enchanted sword known as Excalibur. Dealt a mortal wound by treason from his nephew wielding the blade of the last high-king, Arthur has rested on the long-lost Isle of Avalon for fifteen hundred years to wait for when Britain would finally need him.

Many threats have been believed to summon him, but none have proven true because when Merlin himself first wrote the prophecy of the king’s return, he left out one important fact; for the king to be resurrected, Excalibur must be returned to his hand but before his final battle, Arthur had one of his most trusted knights return to the blade from whence it had come; the Lady of the Lake. But now… now the king returns.

It started in the hills of Cornwall, where the old kingdom of Camelot once stood and where the deep magic of Arthur’s Britain was strongest. The deep magic has awoken and Merlin has returned, freed from the oak tree within which the enchanter Vivian sealed him.

And to be blunt… he was a bit disoriented as he looked and listened to the land. “Huh. So this is the future. Bit underwhelming, honestly.” Naturally, given his divine gift of prophecy, he knew what would come in these centuries, but he still wasn’t exactly sure _what_ he expected to see when he was free from the tree. Still, he knew that if that _had_ happened, it meant that Britain was in peril… and it needed its king.

He remembered where the lake was like the back of his wrinkled hand, so it was a simple procedure to open a mystic gateway to the beach of the lake where the cold wind whipped through his long white hair. “I call thee forth, Nimue; Lady of the Lake and Guardian of the Kingsword Excalibur.”

The water parted and from it rose the magnificent water fae herself with an admittedly rather sour look on her face. “It’s been a long time Merlin. I assume you’re here to make good on your word from all those years ago?”

“If the deep magic has seen fit to release me from Vivian’s oak prison, Nimue, then it means that Britain is in grave danger from which only Arthur can save it.” Merlin nodded. “So yes, I have come to request Excalibur as well as safe passage to Avalon.”

Nimue rolled her eyes and simply waved to the water in an order for the sword to rise to the surface, still as glittering and pristine as the day Sir Bedivere tossed the blade to her in the first place. “I honor the terms of our agreement wizard, though I do have one question; why come to me to request passage to the Isle?”

“You already know the answer to that question, faery. The natural magic of Avalon is too powerful for even me to overcome. And your guardians… I’ve seen in my prophecies what they do to those they deem unworthy to see the king. But if you grant me amnesty from their machinations, the name of Pendragon will return to bring peace to the realm. So please, great lady Nimue, grant me peace on my way to the bedside of King Arthur.”

Nimue shook her head at the old wizard. “Nice to see that the centuries haven’t tarnished your silver tongue, Merlin.” The sword soon found itself with its handle aimed at his hand, with a particular young blue flower wrapped around the hilt. “Show the guardians that blossom and you will be allowed to Avalon without incident.”

“Thank you.” Merlin took the blade without hesitation and swiftly left… but he stopped to look back at the fae for a moment. “And Nimue?” She was nearly fully submerged when she heard him. “It was… nice… seeing you again.”

Nimue smiled back at the old wizard… before smirking. “A _bit_ of tarnish, I suppose. Farewell.” And with that, the Lady of the Lake vanished.

“Nice to see _you_ haven’t changed much either.” Not much left to do but leave for Avalon itself; wasn’t too long of a ride to the guardians’ keep on the north Cornish coast, hidden from prying eyes by a powerful barrier forged of fae magic, same as that which surrounded the Isle itself.

Unfortunately, no sooner had Merlin hitched his horse than his ear twitched at the sound of a bowstring flying. One wave of his hand and the arrow struck the ground just three feet to his left, allowing him to see who had let it fly in the first place; a dark-garbed sentry with a bow atop the wall of the keep who had knocked and leveled another bow. “Who dares intrude upon the Lion’s Keep?!”

Merlin smiled at his bellowing and simply used his magic to lift himself from the ground to be on the same level as this sentry. “I am Merlin Ambrosius; court mage of Camelot. And I come bearing Excalibur to raise from his rest the Once and Future King.” Excalibur came aloft in the old mage’s hand, the bloom fluttering in the breeze.

Upon seeing this display, the guard knelt to the wizard. “Forgive me, Lord Merlin. You are graciously welcomed to the Isle of Avalon. Lady Morgan has been expecting you.”

“Morgan? You mean Morgana?” Merlin was admittedly surprised at this; he was unaware that Morgana had managed some manner of immortality.

“The same.” And yet, there was the voice of his greatest disciple, and there she walked toward the great wizard, still as young and lovely as when Camelot fell to Mordred. “It’s good to see you, Master.”

Merlin smiled as he set down and shook hands with her. “And you, my student. Tell me, why do these knights address you not as Morgana, but as _Morgan_?”

The witch smiled at her old master. “Times have changed, Merlin. These days, Morgan is an acceptable name for women, so I took it as my own. Now… I suppose you wonder how I still live.”

“I would be lying if I said that were untrue.” Merlin smiled. “I assume you’ve somehow gained access to Excalibur’s scabbard?”

“Not exactly. You see, while you were… for lack of a better term; away, Nimue and I assembled this order of knights to guard the passage to Avalon, allowing access only to those she or I personally granted.” Morgan smiled as she led her old master into the keep; she remembered everything from back then as though it were yesterday. “Then… Oh, then the most astounding thing happened; we received an unexpected guest.” Naturally, when the doors to this chamber of the keep opened, Merlin wasn’t expecting who he saw at the desk.

“Sir Galahad?” But indeed, it was Galahad; bastard-son of Lancelot and purest of all the Knights of the Round Table, only last seen centuries ago by Gawain and Bors de Ganis being carried to Heaven by a choir of angels with the Holy Grail.

And naturally, he was amazed and astounded when he saw the wizard as he quickly dove from the desk and knelt to the sorcerer in humility. “Lord Merlin. You honor me with your presence, sire. The lady Morgan has told me you would return, but I must admit; until now, I did not believe her.”

Merlin nodded. “Understandable. You were absent when she revealed Lancelot’s indiscretion with Queen Gwenevere.” He turned to Morgan with a smirk as he noticed the famed chalice Galahad disappeared with on the desk. “Well, at least now I know how you’ve lived this long.”

Morgan smiled. “Yes, the Chalice of Christ is a magnificent thing, is it not?” She raised in hand with a glowing smile. “One simple sip and you are gifted with the capacity to live for centuries.” She placed the chalice back to the desk. “But we’ll save that discussion for another time. In the meantime, with you returned and carrying Excalibur, and judging from what you told my guards, I assume you have come to awaken my brother?”

“Indeed. And t'would be my honor if the two of you joined me.”

“An honor I would gladly accept Lord Merlin, but you may not have been the only one to be awakened by the deep magic.” Galahad simply replied, rising to his feet. “And if so, I must remain at the keep to protect not only the passage to Avalon, but the Grail.”

“Of course, Galahad. You have a duty here, I understand that.” Merlin nodded in understanding. He gave a simple glance at Morgan who easily nodded. The journey to the isle itself was a relatively simple one and the isle was as beautiful as ever; still lush and green with sorceresses on the coast to welcome them.

Once ashore, the two were quickly led to the cave within which rested the great king; his wound healed and at an eternal rest on a stone bed. Merlin smiled at him; the boy he had once raised and groomed to take the throne, but now… now he was asleep. But not for long. Merlin walked to a stone at the foot of the king’s bed and raised the sword to stab it into the stone. “Mhà an Kingsword a thilleadh chun Scabbard of Granite agus an Rìgh Aon uair agus san àm ri teachd a thoirt air ais chun rìgh-chathair gràsmhor aige.” (Translation from Scottish Gaelic: “May the Kingsword be returned to its Scabbard of Granite and the Once and Future King restored to his gracious throne.”) With that and not much else in the way of fanfare, the blade was quickly thrust straight into the stone, crackling with powerful magic. That magic cracked through the stone to the king’s bed and from there, to the King himself, rousing him from his long slumber with a proud grin spreading across his bearded face.

With little fanfare, he rose to his feet from his bed and stepped to his sword, grabbing the handle with a single strong hand before he gave a single powerful pull, raising the great sword from the stone with a mighty ring. “Ahh-ha-ha!” he bellowed. “Oh, tis good to be back.” He smiled as he saw his old mentor at his side as well. “Merlin, old friend, it’s been far too long.”

“Indeed it has, my king.” the wizard nodded. “Over fifteen hundred years.”

Admittedly, this surprised the king a bit as he lowered Excalibur. “That long? Really?” Merlin’s nod simply drove the king to stroke his beard as he contemplated the matter. “But… it feels as though… Th-The Strife of Camlann; Mordred, what happened to him?”

“Mordred has fallen, my king. By your blade, no less.” Merlin assured. “Morgana brought you to Avalon and saved you by placing upon you a special spell of my own design; you would not die, but sleep freed from the shackles of age until Excalibur returned to your hand. This spell was to remain intact until the deep magic saw fit to free you. Clearly, it has done so as I am free as well.”

“Then Britain is in grave danger.” Arthur nodded in understanding.

“Not just Britain, brother,” Morgan interjected. “The whole world.” Arthur and Merlin seemed intrigued as they looked at the young witch. “I’ve been surveying the world’s leylines while you two have been asleep and I’ve noticed a great upheaval; something is coming. I’ve no idea what, but whatever it is, it’s going to be big.”

“We can only pray other warriors are arising now that can aid us.” Arthur’s hope was well-founded; the world was entering a new age of heroism and he would be at the very forefront of it.


	3. Maid of Orléans

Jeanne d’Arc (perhaps better known by some as Joan _of_ Arc) has long been written as a gracious and tragic hero in the Hundred Years War, canonized by the Catholic Church of France as a secondary patron saint of the nation 26 years after her execution by the Church of England on charges of heresy, cross-dressing, and witchcraft.

Long has she been lost to this world, but now the deep magic calls to her soul as the world called for aid from a great soldier and God has seen fit to allow her return to Earth. There was just one small problem; no one told her about that yet. So when she was returned to a new body nearly identical to that which was taken from her by three separate fires in Rouen, she was… understandably confused.

It was strange enough being brought back to life, but it got even weirder when she realized she was naked as the day she was born in some sort of sewer. Seeking answers as only a devote Catholic as herself could do, she dropped to her knees in this sewer-tunnel and prayed. “O Great and Gracious Lord, I beseech You in good grace, though I do not question Your judgment; why have You seen fit to expel me from Heaven and return me to my home?”

Naturally, she was expecting about the same answer to this one as to almost all her past prayers; none, but instead something did happen; she found herself bathed in holy light and looking up, she could see, as clear as day, the Gilded Gates of Heaven. “ _The deep magic calls to you, child._ ”

Jeanne was stunned; she wasn't expecting to, but she had, in fact, heard the Voice of her long-time host in Heaven, God Himself. “Wh- What do You mean, Lord?”

“ _Your world is entering a new age of sin and loss._ ” God bellowed respectfully. “ _The people are in need of a shepherd to guide them through these dark times. And you, my daughter Jeanne, are a perfect choice._ ”

Jeanne was honored; to be chosen by God Himself for such an auspicious duty was far better than her first taste of the battlefield. “I gratefully accept, Lord.”

“ _You will do well, my child. But not alone._ ” Jeanne was admittedly confused by this. “ _There are others like you. Other great heroes will soon follow you on this grand journey to aid mankind. You must join together, and declare true war on all that is wrong with this world._ ”

Jeanne nodded in understanding. “Yes Lord, I understand. But, and I do not argue with Your graciousness, if I am to aid man, I cannot do so as a bare-skinned child as I am.”

God chuckled. “ _Of course, My child. You will find your personal effects down the tunnel to your left. I hope they meet with your approval._ ”

“Praise-be Thee, Lord. You are as kind and gentle as you have ever been.” But then, something occurred to her… something she’d not considered until just now. “But Lord, I must ask one further thing; what is Your year?”

“ _Two-thousand and twenty._ ” Jeanne was in awe; she had been put to death by the British in 1431 and now here she was; returned to the realm of man nearly six hundred years later.

She knew she had to ask, but she believed she may not like her answers. “Lord, what has become of France? Of the world? Of… Of Gilles? Tell me, Lord, what has become of Gilles de Rais?”

God seemed a bit apprehensive about this particular line of questioning as clear when He cleared His throat. “ _All in good time, my child. Now please, you must make haste. The world moves ever-faster to the end-of-days._ ”

“As you wish Lord, though I do have one more question if You will permit me.” God clearly did permit her as the dimming light clearly returned. “How is it that I can now speak English?”

God simply chuckled. “ _Merely to make it easier for your future compatriots to understand you. You can still speak French, of course; I would not dare take that away from any of My children._ ”

“Of course. Thank you, Lord. I shall carry out Your orders. It nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.” With that, Jeanne’s prayer of questions ended and the heavenly light and gilded gates disappeared from her sight. Standing now, she made her way down the tunnel God directed her and found a lone angel she had seen in Heaven countless times before, now holding a modern women’s business suit on a wire hangar and simple but lovely low-heeled shoes. “Is this what French women wear this year?”

The angel simply smiled at her human friend. “All things must change with time, Jeanne. Now then; if I were you, I’d get dressed.”

Jeanne simply smiled and donned the suit as she was instructed, pleasantly surprised to find that it fit her perfectly… though the shoes took a bit of getting used to. And when she was finally done, she found her way out of the sewer by way of a hole in a street. But when she emerged, she found herself in an unfamiliar place; tall unfamiliar buildings practically cut the sky, people all around her cast her unusual glances, and most present were large machines gleaming all colors imaginable carrying people every-which-way along sheer black roads.

She was unpleasantly ripped from her wonder when she heard a shrill noise behind her. One of these machines had stopped behind her and its apparent operator seemed rather angry. “Hey! Sortez de la route!” he yelled. (Translation: “Hey! Get out of the road!”)

Jeanne was instantly sorry and stepped aside. “M- Mes excuses, mon ami. S'il vous plaît, pourriez-vous me dire; Où suis-je?” Her question was rational, but the operator just looked at her confused. (Translation: “M- My apologies, friend. Please, could you tell me; where am I?”)

“Rouen. Où pensez-vous?” Now it was Jeanne’s turn to be confused… and more than a bit frightened. (Translation: “Rouen. Where do you think?”)

If this was what Rouen had become in her nearly-600 year absence, then she wasn’t sure she could contend with what might have become of the rest of the world. And she still had questions even God left unanswered; what was this threat mankind faced? What other heroes would she meet in her quest? And what had become of Gilles de Rais?

Unfortunately, while she would soon find answers, she would not like many of them.


End file.
